Checking In On The Kid

I just checked in on the kid.  The kid is a baby squirrel who I don't want to name because he's probably dying.   

I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure the kid's in bad shape.  I found him stretched out helplessly in the middle of the road, baking in the sun.  Some crows circled near him as he was squealing, and that got my attention.  I thought if I played my ukulele, he would follow the sound of my strumming into the shade.  That didn't happen.

Normally, I'm not too interested in touching animals with my bare hands, not even domesticated animals.  Luckily for the kid, a Spanish-speaking father and son team passing by had no problem picking up the kid, and placing him underneath the shade of a tree in my front yard.

"Que necesita la fruta," says the father.  I run inside and bring back a small slice of apple.  "Y agua," he adds.  I run inside and bring back a cup of water and pour it into a paper plate.  I put the plate right in front of the kid's face.

He looks much more comfortable in the shade, but he's having some kind of trouble.  He has a piece of apple in his mouth.  He wants to eat it, but he can't.  It just rests in his mouth like a toothpick.  

I try feeding him water.  I finagle the paper plate underneath his chin, but he does not drink.  I lie down in the shade beside him with my ukulele in hand.  He is shaking and alternating between having his eyes opened and closed.  I want him to understand English so I can say, "Drink the water, kid.  You'll feel better."

"Beber el agua, muchacho.  Te sentirås mejor," I would say if he understood Spanish.  But, no.  He just lays his head on the end of that paper plate, shaking away.

I start singing the song "Days" by The Kinks.  This song incites an unusually animated reaction from a baby squirrel who is dying:  He raises his head.  The kid has good taste.  He especially likes the D chord.  I play the song on loop for his enjoyment.  Not only does he raise his head, but he also starts drinking the water.  "I've done it," I thought.  "I've nursed this squirrel back to life!"  

He drank a few more sips of water, and began crawling towards me slowly and diagonally.  I figure I've cured him of his ills, so I go inside, wash my hands, and make lunch.

I've just checked in on the kid again.  He doesn't look so good.  He hasn't moved far, and he's no longer resting under the shade of the tree because the sun has moved to its afternoon position.  His eyes are closed.  He's shaking.  I don't know what else I can do for him.